


Rules Upon Rules

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Fluff & Angst [158]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anger Management, M/M, No domestic abuse, No partner abuse or real threat, Other than a light shoving, Some assault of inanimate objects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: The Rules normally keep Kylo safe.





	

He has very specific Rules to follow, which make life easier. There is the Rule about which order to put his clothes on, and to not stop part way through and let himself be distracted. There is the Rule about which order to eat the various sections of his meals in. There is the Rule about walking away when people are too stupid to be allowed to live (because killing them reduces the number of people to cook his food and fly the ship and the paperwork involved and the headache of explaining it and the distress in everyone around him and the way no one will come near him if he goes around murdering people and it was _one time okay one time_ and they totally Deserved It). There is the Rule about When I Am Angry I Will Think About Thunderstorms And Visualise Them And Bite My Cheek To Distract Me And Make Distance Between Me And The Thing That Is Annoying Me and all the other little tips and tricks.

It is not like Jedi meditation. It is not _destroying_ or denying his emotion. It’s channelling it into useful things (like mastering a saber form), or holding it in until it’s Okay to Let Go.

Sometimes people make the Rules hard to follow, and try to invoke the Kill Me Now privilege, which Kylo very much would like to oblige them with. They yammer on, or ruin things, or give you Bad News, and you just want to push your balled up fist in a kiss to their teeth so they taste them going down their throat. Or sink your saber in, so deep you smell cauterised flesh. Or use the Force to pull each of their limbs in different directions until they–

“Kylo?”  


He’s turning his saber-hilt over and over in his hands, resting on his lap. He isn’t even aware he’s doing that, so lost in the internal memory of blood-smell and bone-sound. His breathing reverberates inside of his mask, and he’s Just. So. Angry.

So angry his teeth are nearly diamonds, and his vision is slightly blurry because his mind is on other things than focusing. 

“Kylo…”  


Do. Not. Punch. Do. Not. Push. Do. Not–

A hand on his arm, and he flings out a wave of _go the fuck away_ with the Force, sending Hux slamming into the wall.

_I could kill you I could kill you now I could push my hand into your gut and I could–_

“Kylo! You told me… you told me to do it.”  


Hux’s expression is more concern than fear, or anger, or disappointment. That makes Kylo even more angry.

“Did I.”  


“You told me to say it if you needed to come back down.”  


“I don’t need to come back _anywhere_.” He’s being unreasonable and he knows. He’s being argumentative and bitchy and stubborn, and the worst part is he’s aware, but unable to stop himself. He hates it, because it shows how little control he has, how ‘insane’ he must be. “You don’t know–”  


Hux says it. He says the word - the name - that is _forbidden_.

Kylo can’t help it: i’s not so much red he sees as every colour at once. His mind goes somewhere else, and pure _rage_ takes over. He flicks out his cross-guarded blade, screaming at the top of his lungs as he cuts through bulkhead and console alike, finessing each twist, each twirl.

He’s angry at so many things, but today was one thing Too Many, and nothing he did would work to put it Back Where It Belonged. He’d been increasingly tense all day, and he’d been trying _so so so so so very very hard_ but–

Slash. Burn. Scream. He works until his arms are aching, and his throat tastes of broth, and his head spins from lack of air. He goes on until he can’t go on any more, and then he flicks the switch off and drops.

Drops to his knees, exhausted and dismayed. He isn’t supposed to do this, he’s supposed to be _better_ than this. He’s supposed to be so, so, so much better than this.

Kylo is caught in the loop of self-loathing when he feels the heavy weight of a coat draped over his shoulders. He isn’t cold, but it’s a remote way to ‘touch’ him without him flinching. He pushes his helmet into the wall, sniffing at the tears in his mask, and nods. 

Hux runs a hand over his back, and Kylo feels the heat of it. He’s ashamed, but when arms pull him, and call him by his _real_ name… he throws himself at the mercy of his ribcage, his biceps, his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as he’s wrapped even tighter in Hux’s coat (small as it is).  


“You don’t need to apologise,” Hux insists, his touches slow and firm. “It’s okay. We’ll see what happened later, see if we can stop it happening again. You’re okay. You didn’t do anything bad.”  


He tries not to, so very hard. The Rules are longer now he has Hux, and although it means more things can Go Wrong, it also means there’s other Rules he can revert to, if the first one does Go Wrong. Layers of redundancy. Hux helps him, and he is infinitely grateful.

“Just breathe,” his lover says. “You’re safe, now. I’ll help you. I’ll help you, no matter what you need.”  


It’s a lot of things he needs. A whole hell of a lot.


End file.
